Blood
by Wraithfodder
Summary: While on a mission, Sheppard turns his back for just a moment and McKay vanishes. The team fights against time when the only clues to the missing scientist's whereabouts are drops of blood. McKay whump. Sheppard angst. COMPLETE
1. Chapter 1

TITLE: **Blood**  
AUTHOR: Wraithfodder  
RATING: T  
CATEGORY: Hurt/comfort, angst, gen with a little humor  
SPOILERS: Second season, no spoilers  
NOTES: Big thanks to Derry for her betaing and assistance.

_Copyright Disclaimer_: The _Stargate Atlantis _characters, as presented on the series, belong to MGM, Sci Fi, and other registered copyright holders. No copyright infringement is meant or intended by the writing and posting of this material. I'm just borrowing the characters and the universe for a piece of non-profit 'fan fiction' and will return in one piece (well, usually). However, all original characters and story material are copyright to author. Please do not repost this fiction, in whole or in part, anywhere, without expression written permission of the author.

**SUMMARY: While on a mission, Sheppard turns his back for just a moment and McKay vanishes. The team fights against time when the only clues to the missing scientist's whereabouts are drops of blood. McKay whump. Sheppard angst.**.

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**Blood**

**_Cold water or club soda can remove fresh blood - if it's a spot. Forget that method when a bullet tears through someone's gut and punches a fist-sized hole out the back._**

The exoskeletons of several long-dead insects crunched noisily under his boot as Colonel John Sheppard proceeded further down the dark corridor. For over an hour, those dead insects had been the only sign of life within the massive structure... before his team had begun investigating in earnest, positive that they were the only occupants of a building long since abandoned by either human or Wraith...

Or Ancient technology. "Oh yes, it's ancient as in the beginning of the pre-industrial revolution," Rodney McKay had declared in a decidedly disappointed and acerbic assessment. However, the gate address had been in the Ancient database, so there was potential, even if there wasn't life.

No skeletons, no dried up husks that might once have been human: just the few scattered bones of long-dead rodents who'd fallen prey to probably the local version of alley cats.

The decision was made to split up to expedite the search for technology. Ronon and Teyla had journeyed down one corridor, while Sheppard dragged McKay with him into the huge complex

**_Supposedly Coca Cola is good for removing bloodstains on roads, but he didn't know about Pepsi or the Un-Cola..._**

Another drop of blood reflected eerily off the P-90's bright beam. It was the third drop he'd spotted since he'd begun tracking McKay fifteen minutes ago. Sheppard had turned his back, if only for a moment. In a moment, a person can daydream and run a red light and get plowed into by a tractor-trailer rig five times the size of their car; in a moment, a mother can turn away and a toddler can pull a scalding pot of water off the stove and change a life forever. In a moment, he had turned his back and Dr. Rodney McKay, brilliant and annoying astrophysicist and a man whom Atlantis could not afford to lose, had simply vanished.

The room had been massive, full of machinery that might have been wonderful for manufacturing something one upon a time, but not 'ZedPMs.' "Maybe bicycle parts," McKay had said dryly as he'd wandered off to investigate another aisle.

A blood drop...just three feet away on the dull gray floor. It was small, thank God, and it was relatively fresh. Not the life-giving liquid squeezed out of an alien rodent, for there were no signs of fur or struggle of any kind, just the semi-round blob of glistening liquid.

"_Sheppard_."

Ronon's deep voice cut through the silence of the abandoned building, but hadn't surprised the colonel. Their contact was terse, and only if information was necessary.

"Anything?" Sheppard cast his gaze down the long corridor… very long. Long-distance sprinter long. The light dropped off in the distance to bleed into utter blackness.

"_Nothing here_." In other words, no sign of any alien life. "We're doubling back," said the Satedan.

"Be careful. Rodney's got the life signs detector."

"_Understood_," said Teyla.

They clicked off. Rodney had the only device capable of detecting life signs. He'd had the device out the entire time they'd been searching the building. Had whoever or whatever attacked him not registered? Were they up against something totally alien?

**_Blood tastes metallic. Spill enough, it smells like it, too._**

"Rodney?" His voice sounded unusually loud in the deep corridor, even though he'd uttered the name as nearly a whisper into the radio. Silence was his response.

And a spatter of more blood - its presence taunted him as it lured him down to another pitch-black level.

The dust that had accumulated within the building was sporadic at best, disturbed only by vermin and beetles, and perhaps by wind that must sweep in through the massive rectangular windows of the main assembly room. Virtually all the windows had been shattered, or dulled by age and sun. Cobwebs of busy spiders had spread between the inert machines, their silky threads glittering like tiny jewels when the sun's rays struck them at just the right angle.

Sheppard held his weapon's light low to the ground, studying any disturbance within the thinly veiled layer of dust within the corridor. He wasn't a tracker - wasn't like Ronon - but he had a sharp eye and years of military experience. It was a drag mark. Rodney was being dragged.

**_There are four main blood groups: A, B, AB and O. As far as he knew, most people have O positive blood. Leave it to McKay to be difficult and have B positive blood._**

"-erd."

Sheppard tapped on his radio at Ronon's deep voice. He was disturbed that the reception was breaking up within the building. There was no fear of radioactivity. Once Rodney had seen the old equipment, he had done a scan for dangerous substances. The memories of being unwittingly exposed to radioactivity on the Genii home world had been something Rodney hadn't forgotten, even if it had been over a year ago.

"I'm down two levels," Sheppard responded into his radio. A crackling hiss like an upset snake sounded in his ear. Definite interference. Despite being cut off, he wasn't turning back. Not until he found McKay.

**_A doctor in Afghanistan had once told him of how the Japanese actually had personalities assigned to blood types. Made sense that Sheppard was an 'O' as that was the warrior type, a leader. Sheppard had snorted derisively at that assessment while he'd finished his warm beer. A 'B' was the type who, if Sheppard remembered the late night conversation accurately, did things at their own pace, exhibited a strong personality and disdained the norm. And was excitable. Oh yeah, he knew someone like that._**

The air was dank with disuse, tainted subtly with the whiff of oil. More equipment. Maybe whatever disaster it was which had depleted the world of life hadn't been that long ago. Oil couldn't last for centuries, could it? But then again, poison ivy oil was pretty much indestructible, so he'd been told.

Metal doors on the side led to dark rooms that were either empty or cluttered with abandoned equipment or furniture. No blood. The spatters, sometimes extending to smears, continued down the corridor in sporadic bursts.

He was the stranger in this environment. Great caution should be exercised but he found his pace quickening, knowing that as every moment passed, it could mean one less minute of life for McKay.

A part of him said that McKay could already be dead; that rushing into an unknown situation would get him killed as well. He ignored that voice of common sense, just as he'd disregarded it in Afghanistan. Pretty much cost him his job, but some things were far more important than a career path: lives and friendships. Both were on the line now.

_**Blood is composed of white blood cells, red blood cells, platelets and plasma. It's slick when freshly spilled, like warm oil. Then it starts to clot and gets sticky, clinging to your skin with a revolting tenacity. **_

Several trails of blood smeared down the floor. Just for a foot or so in length, spread almost evenly apart. It reminded him a child's first effort at finger painting, only this was someone's hand - trailing blood. And not just a dribble, but a long, thick smear.

Sheppard resisted the urge to yell into his radio or down the corridor. He could really use the element of surprise, which unfortunately wasn't going to work, as he needed the P-90's light to see. He doubted if anybody or anything on this God-forsaken world even had a match to their name.

**_The average human adult has a blood volume of about 4.7 liters, or 8.2 pints, of which 2-3 liters are plasma, that gross yellow fluid that had a bad habit of leaking everywhere with burns._**

He wasn't going to write a eulogy. Damned if he'd be forced to write another one, or write a letter to a relative he'd never met, having to express sorrow at the loss of a life, but be totally unable to tell that person why their loved one had died so young or why a body could never be returned. Or how much that loss burned away at his soul.

McKay's gun had stood out in stark relief when Sheppard turned the corner. Just lying there at the junction, viscous blood coating its handle. Not a single bullet had been discharged. The safety was still on, as though McKay had pulled the gun from the holster but his strength had then failed him, and his only means of defense - gone.

"Ronon. Teyla," he hissed into his radio. Frustration and anger coiled inside him like an anxious snake, ready to strike out. Damn stupid alien buildings. The place could be reeking with radioactivity and maybe it was a giant mutant ant that had taken McKay away to its nest.

Not a Wraith. Wraith either did take-out or ate right then and there. Desiccated Egyptian-mummy remains that crumbled at the softest touch, but not blood smears. Giant ants? Corridor wasn't _that_ big and they were incredibly noisy and didn't actually exist and he'd much rather face a giant ant than a Wraith any day.

He didn't like the silence. No mice, no bugs. _Nothing_. No voices in his headset but... he sucked in a steadying breath as his foot slid ever so slightly on the floor beneath him. He looked down, redirecting the P-90's light. He was standing in a pool of blood. That was too much blood.

_**A pint is equal to 16 fluid ounces, or the size of a large bottle of Pepsi. The average human body contains something like five quarts of blood. You can lose up to two quarts and still live provided you don't lose it rapidly and have luck on your side. Two quarts equals four pints, so McKay could lose over half a six-pack of Pepsi before… **_

The corridor branched off to two distinct smaller corridors. Blood pointed the way down one of them. The theory that McKay might have been abducted, by an alien bent on forcing gate addresses out of the scientist was gone, replaced by the cold hard fact that when Sheppard found McKay, he might not find _all_ of McKay. He'd radioed to Ronon and Teyla - expecting no response and receiving none- that they should be on the lookout for a large carnivorous animal. Several faint but massive paw prints had stepped through the blood, leaving their disheartening artwork against the gray concrete flooring.

Whatever had attacked McKay was huge and silent. The attack had taken place only fifty feet from where he'd stood in that assembly room and he'd neither seen nor heard it.

The corridor ended at a large open entryway. There were doors, big steel ones, pushed aside against the solid walls. Beyond the entry lay a massive warehouse-sized area. A rapid sweep with the P-90's light showed at least a thirty-foot high ceiling. Foreign machinery dotted the floor like petrified wood, sentinels of a long-ago thriving civilization.

And somewhere in this massive room lay McKay - he hoped.

Sheppard entered the room, weapon out and ready.

**_One milliliter of blood weighs one gram, Beckett had mentioned that tidbit out of the blue one day. Like Sheppard really need to know that._**

If you spilled a cup of coffee on a flat surface, it would spread far and wide. However, if you spilled that same cup on a computer keyboard, it would concentrate its destructive effects on that piece of equipment in a very focused area.

The blood spatter had now become sporadic tiny pools and rivulets, resembling a bad piece of modern art. A crimson hand print smeared in vain against the lower portion of a cabinet. Sheppard had clenched his teeth, forcing the emotion from his mind, concentrating strictly on the rescue mission. Get in. Extract his man. Get out. Enemy casualties? Totally acceptable and right now, highly desirable.

**_Rapid blood loss produces hypovolemic shock._**

Cry me a river. That was the name of some old song, wasn't it? Sheppard couldn't remember the words, or who had sung it or what era it was from, but the river was now there on the floor: large, gleaming red streams of blood dragging around a large cabinet with another unknown piece of machinery atop it. He wouldn't cry, not now. Maybe never. Perhaps after the funeral and the 'sorry, but people die in war and we're at war' pats on the back, he'd grab a jumper, fly to the mainland, get some of the volatile stuff he'd heard rumors about and get totally, unequivocally drunk. Break things, kick trees, and vow never to let anybody get under his skin the way Rodney McKay had somehow managed to, ever since the obnoxious scientist had stared at him jealously when he'd activated the Ancient's control chair. Effortlessly and unwittingly, doing something Rodney hadn't been able to do despite months of trying.

Rodney was dead.

Sheppard had seen more than enough death in his lifetime. Seen enough blood spilled in combat to know that McKay had gone past the half a six-pack limit, all the way to one of those 24-can beer packs. No, make that coffee. McKay wouldn't want to be compared to soda or beer. He'd want people to raise cups of expresso to his memory.

Exhibiting a caution refined from avoiding Wraith, Sheppard crept around the corner of the cabinet in a low crouch, P-90 ready to blast anything that moved. More blood spread out its dark tendrils in an irregular oval pool. And just beyond that, highlighted in the stark beam of the light, was a claw.

Long, yellow and blunted, the big claw peaked out just from behind another indistinct cabinet. It didn't move from its position on the floor.

Sheppard swallowed, then advanced as he readied himself for the creature to launch at him. As he turned the corner and the light struck the creature, he held in his breath. The animal was bigger than a mountain lion, covered in deep brown fur that reminded him of a grizzly bear. The fur was liberally matted with blood. Something dark and straight struck out of one shoulder.

Standing up, Sheppard approached the prone animal as though it were booby-trapped. All the while he glanced around, realizing there could be more than one of them. He kicked at the rear haunches of the animal, pulling back quickly, but the animal didn't stir. He moved around to the front of the creature, comprehension dawning that the strange object sticking out of it was a tool of some sort.

The animal was dead. Someone had violently bashed in its skull. Repeatedly. He was pretty sure that was brain matter oozing out from the gory mess that was spattered everywhere like a Jackson Pollack painting.

_**Yes, Part One ends here. One more part to go!**_

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_Feedback welcome! _


	2. Chapter 2

TITLE: **Blood**  
AUTHOR: Wraithfodder  
Copyright Disclaimer: See part one.

**SUMMARY: While on a mission, Sheppard turns his back for just a moment and McKay vanishes. The team fights against time when the only clues to the missing scientist's whereabouts are drops of blood. McKay whump. Sheppard angst. **.

_Thanks for the reviews!_

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**Blood, part 2**

**_An average military field dressing can absorb approximately one-half pint of blood._**

Sheppard turned around rapidly on his heel, surveying the endless darkness. Rodney had to be in there somewhere, but... aiming the light down, he quickly checked the surrounding area on the floor. No more paw prints. The new carcass was probably the only animal.

"Rodney!"

Nothing.

"Ronon, Teyla," he shouted into his radio. There was a crackle. "I'm three floors down. Large manufacturing room. Follow the blood."

God, the room had to be the size of a friggin football field and more cluttered than a mall parking lot the night before Christmas. Rodney could be anywhere in there. With the animal dead by definitely unnatural causes, there was the faint hope that Rodney might still be alive.

Follow the blood.

Turning the corner, he realized he'd been holding his breath. Rodney lay just ten feet away, on his side, looking like the victim of a roadside bombing. Blood soaked his entire side and his upper arm was obviously torn open. The uniform was shredded and there were more claw marks on a leg.

Sheppard quickly knelt down next to Rodney and rolled him onto his back.

Pain exploded in his head as something smashed him in the side of the head and he went down, landing hard on the floor.

"Shit!" He clutched a hand to his throbbing forehead. It felt like he'd been clobbered with a brick. The thought that another animal had suddenly appeared rushed into this thoughts and he held out his weapon, frantically scanning the darkness with its beam but all he saw was McKay trying in vain to crawl away.

Damn, he'd spooked McKay and the man had simply tried to defend himself. _Stupid move, John!_

Crawling back over to his fallen comrade, Sheppard shook his head. Not concussed but close enough and he was definitely going to have a lump there in the morning if he didn't bleed to death first. Blood dripped down the side of his face. "Rodney. _Rodney_," he said, loud and sharp. He wanted to lay down a reassuring touch, but was unsure if the action would prompt further violence.

McKay whimpered. Sheppard never thought he'd ever appreciate that particular sound but now it was music to his ears. "It's just me," he said. He very carefully removed the laptop from McKay's right hand. It was battered, dented and liberally covered with blood. That's when Sheppard realized McKay had struck him with it, and that he was probably covered in animal blood and not his own.

**_Most severely wounded soldiers die of blood loss before they can reach a medical facility._**

"-_nel, can you hear us_?" Teyla's voice, broken but there.

"I'm down here," Sheppard yelled into his earpiece. "Rodney's alive but hurt bad."

"_Where_?" came Ronon's voice.

Shit. No dman light switch to hit and say _here I am, send the rescue party_. "Rodney, listen to me." Sheppard laid a hand on the bloodied scientist. "I'm going to fire my gun. The animal is dead. Okay. It's _dead_. You're safe. I just need for Ronon and Teyla to find me."

Rodney grimaced, more from pain than anything else, but Sheppard took that as a yes. He aimed the P-90 up high and off to the side and fired off a long burst. A second later, there was a strange creaking sound and a resounding pop. A massive explosion of glass and metal shattering fifty feet away filled the air. Sheppard instinctively threw himself over McKay, ignoring the man's cry of pain from the movement, but whatever he'd knocked off the ceiling hadn't spread its destructive tendrils to where they lay on the floor.

Crap. It sounded like a bomb had gone off.

"_Sheppard_!" Ronon's voice echoed, and not so much over the radio but just outside the massive room.

"Here!" Sheppard aimed his P-90's light upward, leaning it against the cabinet while he quickly unfurled a field dressing. Rodney's upper arm was torn open. It was a deep wound and had bled profusely, as had the multitude of deep jagged tooth marks in the man's one shoulders.

Sheppard kept up a steady stream of chatter, letting Rodney know everything he was doing. Any human voice was probably a blessing at that point, he realized, and knew that if he'd been the one on the floor, that would set his mind at least partially at ease. Rodney's eyes remained tightly shut but he was conscious enough to know he was no longer alone.

The medical field dressings that Sheppard carried went fast on the arm wound. Sheppard rifled McKay's torn vest, finding two more dressings. Thank God they hadn't been replaced with PowerBars or laptop batteries. Sheppard bandaged the leg wounds as best he could, but had now run out of material. Shucking his vest and jacket, he pulled off his own shirt and used that to staunch further bleeding on the shoulder wounds.

When Ronon and Teyla appeared seconds later, the team went into precise action. They weren't a medical team per se, but they'd seen enough and been injured enough to know the drill. The Satedan secured a makeshift stretcher in an act so noisy that Sheppard wondered if the man had literally ripped the board off some wall. Sheppard and Teyla covered McKay with their vests and jackets in the hope it would help stave off shock.

By the time they they'd made it back to the jumper, Rodney was cold and incoherent at best, rambling on about gargoyles. Sheppard was forced to shove aside the overwhelming desire to stay by Rodney's side to render more aid and offer much-needed emotional support, but someone had to fly the jumper.

He thanked God for the inertial dampeners or else everybody would have been squashed flat against the rear of the jumper as he pushed the ship to its maximum speed toward the Stargate.

Beckett's medical team barely let the jumper's rear hatch descend before they clambered like a horde of invading insects into the ship to attend to Rodney's supine form.

A doctor took one look at Sheppard and ordered another gurney. It was then Sheppard realized just how much blood coated his own body - from kneeling in it, helping to pick up Rodney, just wiping the nauseating slickness off his hands so he could pick up a stretcher or handle the jumper controls. "It's not mine," he said tersely, waving off any assistance.

He'd stood in the jumper bay, flanked on either side by Ronon and Teyla, watching as Rodney was whisked away. They knew they'd just be in the way if they followed to the infirmary, and would be denied entrance.

Sheppard suddenly had the overwhelming urge to wash off the blood before he threw up.

**_A pint of blood weighs about one pound. Losing blood wasn't an ideal method to lose weight._**

All Rodney had to do was wake up.

It had been over 24 hours since the surgical team had put him back together. Concussion, soft tissue damage, more stitches than Sheppard had wanted to know about. Dr. Josh Levin, their resident trauma surgeon, hadn't seemed unduly alarmed by the damage, citing no severed tendons, nerves or major blood vessels. Rodney was, in his estimation, a very lucky man.

Sheppard stared at his fingers. They'd been pink several hours ago. He'd scrubbed and scrubbed. Once the blood had dried around the fingernails, it just seemed to set in like rust on a car. If it wasn't for the fact that the Ancient's laundry facilities could remove bloodstains - and that replacement uniforms and boots weren't that readily available - he would have tossed out the sodden clothing.

The ghostly white pallor had left Rodney's skin hours ago, and now he looked as though he were merely sleeping in the infirmary's only occupied bed, that is, if it wasn't for all the tubes and wires connected to the man, the heavy bandages on his shoulder and the bruised shadows under his eyes.

It didn't bother Sheppard to hang around the infirmary. His team came and went, their concern for Rodney evident as they checked in on their fallen teammate. They'd all gone over what had happened on that planet. Sheppard felt responsible, but no one blamed him. There had been no indication of life anywhere. Teyla and Ronon were both more accepting of the situation - that's how life was in the Pegasus Galaxy. Rodney was alive, and that was what mattered.

Beckett had outlined McKay's post-operative care. Teyla volunteered to help the scientist with physical therapy. Meanwhile, Ronon focused his time on making a necklace out of the wicked tooth that they'd found buried deep in Rodney's shoulder. Sure, Ronon had no problem with wearing a Wraith finger bone around his neck, but Rodney was never going to wear _that_ around his neck. Sheppard was one hundred per cent certain of that. Elizabeth would visit as her duties permitted. She'd know Rodney the longest and he was like family to her. Sheppard found himself reassuring Elizabeth of Rodney's recovery when, in fact, he was as worried as her.

Beckett finally told Sheppard that if he didn't get some sleep and soon, he'd help the colonel in that department.

It wasn't as if he hadn't tried. He'd grabbed the bed next to Rodney, and did his best to get some shut-eye, but sleep was elusive. Replays of blackened corridors glistening with streaks of blood haunted his dreams, or memories of how pale blue Rodney's skin had been, a sharp contrast to the darkening bloodstains...

The pattern had repeated itself throughout the night.

It was 3:03 a.m. when he'd heard it: a slight hitch in Rodney's breathing, then a mumbled word.

Sheppard shot up in the bed. Dammit. He'd fallen asleep. He tumbled off the bed, and stood next to Rodney's bed. He eyed the heart monitor, letting the steady rhythm of the device drift over him like a soothing chant. Without giving it much thought, he grasped one of Rodney's hands in his own. There was a slight tug as the fingers reacted, curling ever so slightly onto his hand.

"Mmm." Rodney licked at his lips, then cracked open bleary eyes. "Uh."

"You're in the infirmary." Relief gripped Sheppard as the blue eyes shone in recognition. "You're going to be okay."

"Wha?" Rodney blinked. He had the pseudo-glassy look of someone who'd been drugged, and well, he was, come to think of it.

"An animal attacked you," Sheppard explained, unsure of just how much information the man's mind could process at that point. "But you're safe now. Back home."

"Gargoyles," said Rodney groggily.

"Uh, no, more like a cross between a mountain lion and a bear," said Sheppard.

"Thought it was a gargoyle," Rodney repeated, slowly blinking his eyes. "...was just sitting there on a cabinet, covered in dust. Uglier than Kavanagh trying to look supe... uh... smart."

Sheppard's brow furrowed. Rodney sounded off in la-la land.

"Looked like stone and I thought..." Rodney licked plaintively at his dry lips. Sheppard looked around and spotted a cup with melting ice chips in it on the small table next to the bed. He carefully placed a chip in Rodney's mouth. After a minute, Rodney continued in an oddly flat voice, almost as if he were reading a computer manual aloud. "The eyes were soooo life-like. Like wet glass. Thought, great craftsmanship, but shitty statue. Figured I'd blow the dust off, see what the teeth were made of..."

_Shit._

"And it just... lunged," finished Rodney. "Think it knocked me out."

"Sorry." Sheppard wanted to say more, but didn't think Rodney would remember, and he wanted McKay to know how bad he felt about what had happened.

Rodney seemed to almost cross his eyes when he tried to focus his gaze on Sheppard. "Why?"

"It's my job to make sure crap like this _doesn't_ happen to you."

Rodney shut his eyes, silence permeating the air. Sheppard couldn't fault the man for laying blame where it squarely belonged. He shouldn't have let Rodney out of his sight, shouldn't have-

"But you found me..." The azure eyes studied him with an intensity that Sheppard found a bit unsettling.

"Well, hey, brilliant astrophycists are hard to come by, you know," Sheppard joked lightly.

"Thank you."

The tone was so sincere that Sheppard almost did a double take.

"It's the drugs talking," Rodney added with a slight hint of sarcasm, his eyes gradually closing. "Oh wow, this stuff is good. Tell Carson... want a grand latte of it..."

Sheppard gently squeezed the man's hand. Rodney was asleep, but now, Sheppard knew he could get some sleep as well. Rodney was going to be okay.

**_They say blood is thicker than water… that family relations (blood) are more important than friends (water). But what happens when your friends are your family?_**

Weeks had gone by since Rodney's nearly exsanginated body had been brought back to Atlantis.

His recovery had astounded everyone, except for Beckett, who put it down to sheer stubbornness on the scientist's part, plus the fact that one day the physician told Rodney to stop whining about the one Jell-O per meal rule, and that if the bloody fool wanted another one, he could very well go down to the mess hall and get one. So he had.

Teyla had studied with the nurse regarding physical therapy, so by the time Rodney was ready for the less intensive version of it, she could do it. She was the only one with such a high enough degree of patience to handle Rodney's snarky attitude, which had come back in spades. She also had secret weapon to keep him in line. Admit it or not, Sheppard knew that Rodney was terrified that Teyla would one day suck him into stick fighting practice.

Ronon had kept his promise. He'd walked into the infirmary one afternoon with the necklace made from some incredibly strong vine entwined into a braid, to which attached was the sharp two-inch fang. He'd presented the 'warrior's gift' to Rodney, who immediately was disgusted by the 'barbaric concept' and stuck it aside on the table. Ronon hadn't gotten angry and, later on, he'd confessed he'd rather been expecting that reaction. Yet, once Rodney was released to his quarters, Sheppard had dropped by and spied that 'barbaric' necklace carefully hung around one of the scientist's many awards that dotted the wall. Maybe Ronon hadn't been so off after all...that Rodney would appreciate it.

But while Rodney seemed to be falling back into his old complaining self, Sheppard knew that the incident hadn't been put in the past in the proper way.

Sheppard had waited until Rodney seemed strong enough - both physically and emotionally - to handle what Sheppard presented to him one day in his lab.

The blue eyes had focused intently on the object that Sheppard had laid down on the counter next to McKay's computer. After a second, fury erupted. "What _moron_ broke it! Do they think they grow on trees?" Rodney picked up the rectangular object and several drops of clear water dripped ominously from a cracked corner. "Oh my God!" Rodney exclaimed and then his outburst died, a flurry of emotions darkening his face. He almost let the laptop drop from his hands.

"It's-" Rodney practically stuttered.

"Yeah, that's the computer you smashed me in the face with," finished Sheppard.

Rodney broke his startled gaze from the battered rectangular device, then stared intently at Sheppard. "You brought it back?"

Sheppard shrugged. "Government property," he said in a lazy manner, although he'd tossed it on the stretcher quickly, thinking that Rodney would yell at him if he'd left it behind. An insane thought at the time.

Rodney blinked. "Why is it dripping _water_?"

"I washed it."

"You _what_!"

"Soaked it in the tub," finished Sheppard.

McKay looked torn between having a massive stroke or dying laughing. He settled for something in between, an incredulous look that conveyed his horror at the act as well as disdain for the aggressor.

"It's a computer. It's electronic. Water and electricity do not mix."

"It was shot."

"Well, it is _now_!"

_Sheppard left his bloodied uniform and boots in the tub/shower, just soaking, after he'd cleaned up. When he'd returned to his quarters - after laying out the disastrous mission in a short briefing to Elizabeth, and too agitated to just sit and wait because it would be hours before any of them would be permitted to see Rodney - the water in the tub had turned a soft pink. He dumped the soggy clothing in the laundry. He'd deal with it later. _

_Someone took the laptop from the jumper and it was now in a lab. Rumors were the techies were going to salvage it. Zelenka and a technician (who didn't look over 20 years old, if that) were staring at the bloodied device as though it were a bomb that would detonate at the slightest sneeze. _

_It was an all around bad idea to even look at the thing. He couldn't fathom which money-crunching nitwit had come up with this plan. _

_The tech, wearing latex gloves, picked up the laptop and something soft and gelatinous slid out of a large crack in the side. It hit the counter with a soft 'plop.' _

_"What is that?" Zelenka asked, disgust and trepidation clear on his face. _

_"Brain," Sheppard said matter-of-factly, remembering too clearly the gore leaking out of the animal's battered skull. _

_Zelenka turned green and, with hand clamped over mouth, bolted from the room. _

_"Cat brain," Sheppard clarified after a beat. But part of that blood was still Rodney's blood... _

_The tech dropped the laptop with a resounding thud and stepped back in horror. _

_"It's a write-off," the man suddenly declared. A second later, he imitated a chameleon, turning that lovely shade of green as he too fled the lab. _

_Sheppard decided to spare anybody else that misery and donning some latex gloves, tossed the laptop into a box and left. He went to his room, filled the tub and dumped in the computer. _

_The water blossomed red, drawing intangible threads of dark crimson from the machine's insides to swirl lazily in the tub. It reminded Sheppard of the infamous shower scene from 'Psycho,' or any one of the number of shark attacks in the ever-worsening 'Jaws' trilogy._

"We could have salvaged _parts_," Rodney continued his rant, drawing Sheppard back from that bizarre memory.

Not really, thought Sheppard. It had been amazing how much brain goo had settled in at the bottom of his tub. He'd used bleach to clean it out afterwards.

"Well, obviously I didn't hit you hard enough," muttered McKay.

Sheppard looked up, not sure he'd heard what he thought he'd just heard. "What?"

"Apparently," Rodney continued in a sharp tone. "It'll take more than one blow to pound some knowledge in that brain of yours."

McKay had said it harshly and without much thought, but that's precisely the reaction Sheppard had been hoping he'd hear. Rodney hadn't said a lot about what had happened during the time that animal had dragged him down those long corridors, but evidence indicated he'd been awake for the bulk of it. He'd given them the placate-the-shrink version of the attack, but now some of the more suppressed emotions were coming to surface.

Sheppard wasn't a shrink - sure as hell didn't want the job - but he was a friend. And friends put up with hell to help friends.

"Who told you it was _shot_?" Rodney demanded.

"Hmm..." Sheppard couldn't remember the guy's name. "Zelenka," he settled on instead.

Rodney glowered in disdain. "Of course."

"And all the cat-bear blood that was inside it, sloshing around," Sheppard added. Okay, not sloshing, really, but enough to turn the tub's water to cherry Koolaid red. Sorta.

Sheppard picked up the laptop and shook it vigorously. "See, dry now."

McKay rolled his eyes at the ceiling, but the sarcasm left his person instantly when Sheppard placed the laptop back down on the counter. He'd deliberately laid it down on its top, so that now, a set of horrific gouge marks could be seen on the bottom of the device.

"It served its purpose," Sheppard said seriously. "Saved your life."

Rodney touched one of the long score marks in a very hesitant reach, as if the mere contact would scorch his fingertips. "I remember hearing it strike the floor after that thing attacked..." His pulled his fingers away. "I'd lost my gun. Found a screwdriver, something, but lost it, too."

"It got stuck in the animal," Sheppard said, realizing Rodney might be foggy on those details. Panic, blood loss: doesn't do a mind any good. He could only imagine how scared the scientist must have been, just stabbing away at an animal that wouldn't quit. Wild animals were like that.

"Oh," was Rodney's response.

"You know, I've said this already," said Sheppard, leaning against the counter, "but you did really good."

Rodney smiled tentatively, and Sheppard realized a barrier had finally broken down. Little by little, Rodney began to provide the details of his terrifying experience. Oh, he'd spoken about it with Kate, but it wasn't the same. The two men shared this type of experience on a visceral level. Both had faced pain and imminent death by alien creatures, albeit Sheppard's experience had involved an ugly Iratus bug that had glommed on to his neck with pinchers of superglue, but the result had been the same: facing one's fears and bouncing back.

Sarcasm was Sheppard's defense against the darkness, as much as it was McKay's, yet he held his own at bay while the scientist let his coffee grow cold while he continued speaking.

Sheppard had been astonished at how level headed Rodney had remained throughout the entire ordeal, reasoning that if he'd struggled or cried out for help, that the animal would no doubt have finished him off on the spot. Instead, he'd used the weapons on hand, improvising wildly and ultimately, successfully. McKay seemed horrified that he'd just kept striking the animal, but Sheppard patted him on an arm. "If you hadn't and it was still alive, it would have killed you."

Neither man looked at the clock as the conversation finally wound down, as Sheppard assured Rodney that while the memories would always be there, they would become muted in time. The nightmares would go away - although Sheppard knew that they might be replaced by ones that were even worse - but he didn't say that aloud.

Rodney finally noticed his coffee was no longer palatable, which in his estimation meant a trip to the mess hall.

Sheppard reached for the laptop, assuming it had served a much better purpose in 'death' than in life, but a hand clamped down on it with an unexpected intensity. "Excuse me, but where do you think you're taking that?"

"Uh, the dump?" Sheppard suggested, not that they actually one. Maybe deep-sixing it over the edge of Atlantis, down to a watery grave, would be more appropriate. "I thought-"

"You thought wrong," interrupted Rodney sharply.

_Oookay_... now Sheppard wasn't so sure where the man's mind had wandered. The thing was broken. Dead. An ex-laptop. Pushing up RAM.

"While I may have brained Garfield the Gruesome to death with this very expensive piece of equipment, and thus rendered it possibly unfixable until someone drowned it, I have learned one thing from this experience."

Sheppard arched one eyebrow in expectation.

"That you can't be trusted with a laptop." Rodney picked it up and held it to his chest in an almost covetous manner. "You put it in a tub? I can't-" He suddenly frowned, then sniffed, then repeated that action intently as he held the computer right up to his nose. "You used _shampoo_?"

Sheppard just coughed. He was sure he'd rinsed it pretty well. He didn't think metal and plastic could pick up the scent.

Rodney shook his head in utter dismay. "What were you thinking? Oh, why on earth am I asking? Look at who I'm talking to."

Sheppard offered a wan smile. What had he been thinking…? That the machine was toast, that it had reeked of stale blood and brain goo and that hell, he was going to erase every atom of those nasty scents before showing McKay the laptop.

Rodney shoved the laptop onto the shelf behind him. Sheppard wondered briefly if the scientist would keep it and then one day, take it out from wherever he'd stashed it, remember the horrors, but also find solace in that he'd survived.

The scrape of the coffee mug being dragged off the counter brought Sheppard back to the present. "Coming?" Rodney said dryly, heading out of his lab. "I don't even want to ask what would happen if you got dirt on a life signs detector. You'd probably use your toothbrush to clean it."

Sheppard caught up the scientist. "Don't be insane." He waited a beat before continuing. "I use that to clean my P-90."

Rodney abruptly turned on his heel, his mouth dropping open like the bay on a bomber. He snapped it shut and composed himself before declaring, "You're insane, and I need my coffee." He headed down the hall, determination evident in his fast stride.

Sheppard shrugged, then let a broad smile envelope his face as he followed the scientist down the corridor.

Rodney McKay - one. Alien gargoyle - zero.

**_Horseshoe crabs have blue blood due to the copper content - does that make them royalty? - another inane fact from the strange mind of Carson Beckett. That man really needs to get a new hobby._**

**THE END**

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_Feedback welcome! _


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